Calendar Girl
by vargagirl
Summary: Brooke watches Peyton in the days following the attack. She doesn't like what she sees. Breyton friendship. S4


**A/N:** This is set after 4x05. Except 4x05 went kinda differently, so it's AU. The title is from the song by Stars. 

**Calendar Girl**

She was always on at this time of the day. Or, at least, she used to be. Before everything changed. Before he changed her. The screen is black. I poke my nose into other parts of her webpage. There aren't any new podcasts. The newest one is from the day before he attacked her. I go back to the webcam. I stare as her face slowly comes into focus. I haven't seen her since him.

She's pale, thin. Her hair is a mess of curls. She doesn't look like she's slept any in days. I've never seen her look so bad before. Not even when her mother died. I watch as she gets up from her chair and goes into the bathroom, out of sight. Her room is now a blinding shade of white. Her record shelves are also white; the records have disappeared. Her drawings are absent from her walls. There's no trace of her in the room anymore. It's no longer hers.

It's a few minutes before she comes back. She sits down at her desk then stares at her computer monitor. With my eyes glued to my screen, I can't help but wonder what he did to her. How badly did he actually hurt her?

I can't take anymore of this. I dial the number I've had memorized for a decade. I watch her as I wait for the call to go through. She looks behind her for a moment then goes back to looking at her monitor. I hear her answering machine in my ear.

Against my wishes, the screen goes black.

•

I stare at the road. She used to walk down this path when she was upset. Now it's just for me. I sit in my car, parked in the driveway of an abandoned house across the street and wait. I wait for her. But she never comes. She's given up walking when she's blue. But I still go, hoping I'll see her, just to know that she hasn't changed as much as it feels she has.

I often wonder what happened to her, what happened that night. All Haley could tell me was Peyton was attacked, and Lucas had been there. She said Lucas wouldn't talk to her about it. Neither one of them have been to school since then. It's been almost a week. It's making me worried. The wind shifts outside. It looks like it's going to rain. I look back at the road.

I'm pleasantly surprised when I see blonde curls bounce as their owner crosses the street. She's clutching her leather jacket tightly around herself. She looks fragile, on the edge of breaking. Yet she keeps on walking, never taking her eyes off of the sidewalk in front of her. She doesn't see me.

When she's out of sight, I allow myself to breathe again. She hasn't given up yet.

•

I put my car in park. I leave my eyes on the road in front of me as I turn off the car. My headlights turn off. It's four in the morning. I was in bed. I couldn't sleep.

I force myself to look across the street. Her bedroom light is still on. I want to get out of the car and go up to her front door and knock. I can't move.

I rub a bead with the tip of my thumb. When we were eight, we made matching bracelets at some kid's fair. P.S. and B.D. The initials bring a small smile to my face. P. Sawyer. I really do miss her.

She walks past the window. I barely catch a glimpse of her before she's gone again. Why isn't she asleep?

I'm not sure what I'm doing here, not sure what I want.

•

I stop dead in my tracks when I see her. She's sitting alone at a table. It's lunchtime. I feel someone run into me. The jolt fails to get my attention away from her. I hear someone say my name. I wave them off, staring at her instead. She's bent over a textbook reading. A red t-shirt cuts off my view of her. I look up to find Lucas.

I ask how she's doing. He says she won't talk to him. Hasn't since that night. I ask him exactly what happened that night. He hasn't talked about it to anyone. He needs to. I get the answer I didn't want to hear.

Rape. One of the few words that holds such a heavy weight. I feel my insides churn. Not Peyton. Not my P. Sawyer. The world gets blurry. I feel my fists connect with his chest. I pound and pound. And he lets me. He wraps his arms around me, wanting to give me comfort. But he can't fix my pain. He can't fix her pain.

Realization dawns on me. There's something else he's not telling me. Haley said he was there. He should've been able to stop this from happening. He says he went there. He fought Derek, tried to save her. But he was knocked unconscious. When he woke up, it was too late. I can tell he feels like its his fault. I can't help but feel like it is too. I hold my tongue and begin hugging him back.

I feel the shock wear away, replaced by numbness. The world comes back, demanding my attention. I shoot my best evil look at everyone who's staring at us. I know everyone saw my little outburst. I don't care. They all need to mind their own damn business. Many go back to their own world at my glares. I pull away from him; it isn't working. He isn't helping. Besides, there's something I need to do.

I take a step around him. But she's gone.

•

She's not happy with her drawing. Her left eyebrow raises. She's really not happy with it. I've been staring at her for twenty minutes now. We're supposed to be reading, but I fail to see the reason to care. So I stare at her. I want her to look at me, so I can get her to see that I'm not mad at her.

She's tapping her foot. There must be some song stuck in her head. She once told me that her mind is like a jukebox that somebody put on shuffle. Random songs would weave their way in and out of her mind, a line of one song then a line from a different one. I wish I knew what songs they were now.

She stops drawing suddenly and stares at the page. For a moment, I get the urge to say something, until I remember where we are. English class is probably not the best place to fix our friendship. Especially since the guy sitting behind me keeps giving me weird looks. I shoot one back at him for kicks. I look back at her. Wide eyes are on me.

I hear someone calling my name. I look around. The teacher motions for me to come to the front of the class. I swallow hard. I find my way to my feet, and my feet find their way to the teacher. He gives me a lecture about working in class instead of talking. The bell rings. I feel students brush past me on their way out. He lets me go. I start to rush back to her, to talk to her.

Her desk is empty.

•

I click on her screenname. The chat box opens. The cursor blinks in the text area, tempting me to type something. No words come to mind that express what I'm feeling. I look back at her webcam.

She's been sitting there for twenty minutes. I've been sitting here for thirty. I've gone through this drill a dozen times. I want to say something, but I can't make myself. I don't know what to say. She probably wouldn't even want to talk to me. I click the x at the top right corner.

I sit back in my chair and stare at her. She's got a strand of hair in her face, but she doesn't seem to notice. She's typing something on her computer. I wonder if she's talking to someone.

I can't just sit here and do nothing. I open another message box and type in a quick hi. I hit enter. She pulls back in surprise. Her eyes narrow as she types in a response.

"Go to hell."

I deserve that. I type in an apology and hit enter. This user is not available. She's signed off. I look at her webcam. Two seconds later, it goes dark.

I guess she really doesn't want to talk to me.

•

I knock on the door. It's the fifth time. I know she's home. Her car is in the driveway. I knock again, this time yelling her name. There's nothing but silence beyond the door. I try the door. It's locked. I turn around with intentions to go through the back door. The key is hidden back there. But I stop.

She asks me what I'm doing here. Her stare is cold.

"I'm worried about you." This receives a sarcastic smile and a bit of a snort.

"You? Brooke Davis? Worried about someone other than yourself? That's a first."

"Peyt, wh-" Her fake smile drops off instantly.

"Don't call me that." She means it too. The look in her eyes warns me to be careful.

"I'm sorry." She snorts again.

She mutters something about not wanting to do this and tries to step around me. I block her way, forcing her to stay with me. She looks back up at me, not sure of what I'm doing. I whisper that I'm scared. All the anger drains from her gaze, replaced by an emotion that looks like fear.

"Why?" She whispers.

"Because I want you to be okay. And you're not okay." My voice cracks. My face is getting hot; tears are starting to form. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being stupid and for cutting you off when you didn't do anything. I'm sorry for being a bitch and saying bitchy things. I'm sorry for dating Lucas when I knew you liked him." I take in a ragged breath. "I'm sorry for what Derek did to you."

She stares at me, not sure of what to say. There are too many things she needs to say. She can't decide where to start. So she cries.


End file.
